it’s a man thingy

 

I almost got caught cheating. On Fanny. It’s not what you think.

We were just sitting there on the couch watching an old movie when it happened. All of a sudden, I felt this itching on the back of my neck. Only it wasn’t on the back of my neck, it was on the back of my brain. Not on my head, not on my skull, but my brain. Have you ever had an itch on your brain? Believe me, it’s not something that can be scratched. At least, not in the traditional sense.

Of course, I knew what it was; but it was early. At least two weeks early. It was my brain waking up from a deep slumber. Time to put it back to sleep.

That’s right, I was getting better, and sooner than I’d like. So I told Fanny my bandages were coming loose and got her to go to her apartment for some new ones. Yes, I still had those bandages wrapped around my head. I’m not even sure I needed them anymore, but quite frankly I was digging the look. Not only did it make me seem like a character right out of a Stephen Crane novel, it reminded Fanny to keep taking pity on me. All movies and music aside, pity was the strongest thing I had going for me, and I wasn’t about to let it go.

The second she left, I grabbed hold of Ruby and locked myself in the bathroom. It promised to be a masturbatory exercise of the most brutal nature. I had to hurry, though; time was of the essence.

I don’t usually spend that much time in the bathroom. Mirrors. I can’t stand them. Not only do they catch me every time I turn around, they’re everywhere.

But enough about the stupid mirror. I hung a towel over it because quite frankly, I didn’t want it seeing what I was about to do next.

Next thing you know, I got my pants down.

Did you know that the average male masturbates just once or twice per week. Women even less. Not me. When I was a kid, I went at it five times a day. And that was on a slow day.

I did it whenever and wherever I could. I masturbated at school; I masturbated at soccer practice; I even masturbated at church. You name it, odds are I beat off there. Once, I even did it in the confessional. While giving confession! And I wasn’t even Catholic.

Hey. Don’t knock masturbation. It’s sex with someone you truly love.

This of course was when I was a teenager. By the time I got to college, I’d cut it down to just two or three times per day. With all those co-ed hotties running around everywhere, can you blame me?

Of course, humans are nothing in the animal kingdom when it comes to rubbing one out. My friend Henry Huckleberry works at the LA Zoo and he tells me the male chimpanzees there go at it ten to twelve times a day. Not only that, they do it right out in the open. Lucky chimps.

But enough about old habits; that’s not what I was here to do now.

So I lifted Ruby up and gave her a few warm-up taps. It had been awhile since I’d held the old girl, and the pump needed priming.

I wish I had more time to get it right, but I knew Fanny would be coming back soon. It never did take her long, no matter what the errand. I remember once she went to the pharmacy for some more painkillers and was back in five minutes. But the pharmacy was ten minutes in either direction! How she did it, I’ll never know. Fanny was magical that way. Due to my inexperience with women, I did not know they were all magical like that.

The warming up was done; it was time to get down to business. I had not disciplined my unruly head in quite some time; but just like riding a bike, you never forget.

Brain cells.

I gritted my teeth and swung that mallet up.

Brain cells.

It smacked the shit out of my skull.

Brain cells.

My ears started ringing.

Brain cells.

I hit myself again.

Brain cells.

Now I was seeing double.

Brain cells.

One more wallop for good measure, and I was back to my good ole self. What I hadn’t noticed, amidst all the head smacking and ear ringing, was that Fanny was back. Not only that, she was pounding on the door.

I hadn’t had a woman pounding on my bathroom door since I was a teenager. Back then, it was a Victoria’s Secret catalog and Vaseline.

When I finally answered the door, she was standing there with all the authority of my mother. I fooled my mother then; I would fool Fanny now.

“What in the world is going on in there?” she said. “What’s all that banging around?”

I told her it was nothing, I was just trying to get the bandages back on.

“It didn’t sound like bandages to me.”

I told her I slipped and fell.

“Slipped and fell?”

Yeah, like Kramer.

“Kramer?”

You know, from Seinfeld.

“Seinfeld?’

Yeah. The TV show.

“Never heard of it,” she said.

Never heard of it? Who hasn’t heard of Seinfeld? Then I remembered: nursing humor.

When she got me back on the couch she could see that my head wrapping had come completely undone, but other than that there was no real evidence of anything having happened.

“I swear, Arlen,” she said, applying the new gauze turban to my head, “if your head wasn’t attached to your neck, it would fall right off.”

She didn’t know the half of it.

Arlen was back.